We can enjoy the time we have, and at the end of it, we can still walk away asfriends.
Oh, but doesn’t that feel satisfying?
Friends.
That word feels ludicrously pale compared to whatever the hell we are now.
Not friends, but nottogether.
Well, technically we’re pseudoengaged. To the world at large, we’re a smiling power couple, counting down the days to our extravagant happily-ever-after.
Buttechnicallydoesn’t have a smidge of reality, much less a real, heartfelt love story behind it.
I’m not sure what this story means, besides having more money in my life, and that scares me more than anything.
My eyes flick to Brady again. The stubble that left a rash on my inner thigh. The way his eyelashes cast half moons across his cheek.
A proud nose that might be too big for his face if it wasn’t for his strong, sculpted jaw.
A strong face, Mom would say. All carved lines and princely features designed to trap hearts.
He rocks masculine beauty in a way that makes my breath catch like a hiccup every time I see him.
That smile too. That ridonkulous smile.
I don’t know how he does it, turning it on and chasing the shadows away with every effortless grin.
Smiling certainly comes easier for him than me.
That probably has a lot to do with spending his life in front of the media.
When he smiles for me, it’s different from the million-dollar grin I’ve seen scattered across the internet a hundred times.
A little more genuine. Infinitely warmer.
And yes, I’m a sucker for big blue eyes. Like chips of sky brought down to be windows to a very kind soul. The way they darken when they look at me—
God.
I am so completely screwed. So far in over my head I’m basically a pretzel.
Casual was my thing after Harry. And when we agreed to do this, I never expected it to turn physical, especially not this fast.
What happens if we can’t stop? What if we can’t—
A knock at the door rips me out of my brooding.
My heart lunges up my throat, adrenaline pumping through my limbs. My brain races through every possibility.
Harry, returning for revenge? Unlikely this early in the morning.
Elle? Nah. She’s off in LA this week with billionaire bae for some illustrators conference. Plus, she’s never been a big drop-in girl.
Dr. Ezzie? Impossible. She never comes over, though I think she technically knows where I live.
We’ve never quite touched thefriendsside of colleagues, even if there’s massive respect on both sides. Probably the age difference, and she also has her own life to worry about.
Work doesn’t leave me much time for a lot of socializing between the long hours and everything it takes out of me. I should work on that, I know.
